


Hold On To Me (I'm A Little Unsteady)

by lydiasbones



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Smut, Very domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4595526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiasbones/pseuds/lydiasbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn loves his daughter, Farah, more than anything else in the world. With the help of his mom, Louis, and Liam, he's been raising her just fine. Enter Harry. Zayn has never been very good with change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On To Me (I'm A Little Unsteady)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a song by the X Ambassadors.

The music is thrumming, low and steady and loud. From the DJ booth, Zayn can see writhing bodies through the flashing lights. The club gets like this sometimes—the energy morphs into something slower, the dancing eases from a fist pump into a filthy grind. The air feels heady and thick.

Zayn fiddles with his headphones with one hand while he transitions into the next track with his other. He picks something with a rhythmic beat, something he would fuck to. The crowd responds, hips swaying. Zayn sees Louis grin at him from where he’s manning the bar.

As Zayn scans the crowd, his eyes land on someone—a boy, wearing a white shirt that glows in the light of the club and tight black jeans over incredible thighs. He has wavy brown hair that almost brushes his shoulders and Zayn catches flashes of tattoos up his arms. He’s dancing with a dark-haired girl, grinding against her luxuriously, hands on her hips. He looks up and catches Zayn looking, grins. Dimples pop up on his cheeks.

Zayn doesn’t look away, just stares straight at the boy and smirks at him. The boy looks delighted. He seems almost ethereal, skin flashing with the light of the club as he sways to the music. He’s not a good dancer, really, but something about the way he holds himself makes him hot anyway. Alluring.

Zayn decides it’s time to wake the crowd up a little. He puts on something more energetic, something the crowd can jump to.

People who were making out on the floor split apart and start to dance. The room is thrumming again, this time with a high-paced energy. Zayn grins.

The club feels good tonight, and the night goes by fast. Zayn manipulates the audience to his will, keeps the crowd happy and feels their energy pulsing through his own body.

He seeks out the boy from earlier throughout the night. He’s everywhere, dancing with boys and girls and laughing and drinking and talking all night. He’s working the crowd himself, on a personal level that Zayn has never mastered. Zayn likes being up on his DJ booth, moving the crowd with the music and observing from the outside. But this boy looks comfortable in the midst of the crowd, thrusting himself in and out of clusters of people, switching from one dance partner to another. He’s fascinating to watch. He’s magnetic.

The boy keeps moving all night, only stopping for one ten-minute period where he ends up talking to Louis at the bar, laughing with him while Louis seamlessly shifts between conversation and serving patrons. Zayn wonders if they’ve met before.

The boy also continues to make eye contact with Zayn throughout the night, sometimes catching Zayn looking and sometimes being caught looking himself.

It’s five minutes to closing when the boy comes up to Zayn’s DJ booth and Zayn finally sees him up close. From here, he has wide green eyes and a pretty pink mouth with chapped lips. There’s sweat glistening on his face and he’s pushing back his hair with one hand. There are thick silver rings on fingers.

“Hey there,” the boy says, and his voice is deeper and rougher than Zayn imagined it. “I wanted to make a request.”

Zayn tilts his head in a way that he knows shows off his jawline at the best angle. “Sorry, mate,” he replies, shouting to be heard over the music. “Don’t take requests.”

The boy purses his lips. God, he has a pretty mouth. “Shame,” he replies, and somehow his voice is even deeper now. “I was gonna request that you take me home tonight.”

Zayn blinks. “That’s—” He pauses. “That’s a terrible line.”

The boy grins. His dimples pop up again. “Yeah,” he replies easily. “Did it work?” He looks very much like someone who’s used to getting what he wants.

For a moment, Zayn considers declining for the sake of being contrary. Then, he sighs. “I’m off in five and it’ll take me fifteen more minutes to pack up.” He’s so easy for pretty people.

The boy grins. “Great. I’ll be at the bar pestering Louis until then.”

So he’s definitely met Louis before tonight, then. As he begins to walk away, Zayn realizes something and calls him back.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

The boy turns around, still grinning. “Harry. Nice to meet you, Zayn Malik.”

Zayn frowns. “How do you know my name?” He’s pretty sure his name is only ever listed as DJ Malik when he’s working.

“I asked Louis,” Harry replies. He gives Zayn a two-fingered salute and turns around to walk toward the bar. Zayn absolutely does not watch his ass as he goes.

\--

When everyone has cleared out of the club, Zayn packs his stuff and keeps it in the back room of the club, since he’ll be back again tomorrow night. Then, he strolls over to the bar where Louis is laughing at something Harry said while wiping down the bar counter. Zayn fixes his hair and briefly wishes he had stopped by the bathroom to check how it looked. But then Harry turns around and sees Zayn. He grins, his face lighting up.

“You see, young Harold—” Louis is saying, but then he catches sight of Zayn and the smile on his face shifts immediately from amused to evil.

“Ah, Zayn, I see you’ve—” Louis starts, but Zayn quickly launches himself over the counter and covers Louis’ mouth with his hand.

“No need for that, Lou,” Zayn says mildly, although he doesn’t know what Louis was about to say. Something awful, he’s sure.

Louis lets out a muffled laugh and licks Zayn’s hand. Zayn doesn’t move. He has experience.

“Shall we go, Harry?” Zayn asks, keeping his hand over Louis’ mouth. Harry is watching them with an amused glint in his eye. He nods.

“Yeah, let’s,” he says, leaning to the right so he can look around Zayn and make eye contact with Louis. “It was nice meeting you, Lou!”

Zayn frowns. So this was the first time they had met. He yelps as Louis manages to bite his hand this time and pulls away.

“You too, Harry,” Louis replies easily, shoving Zayn. “You got my number, yeah? Keep in touch.”

“Will do,” Harry says brightly, and then he’s grabbing Zayn’s hand and pulling him outside to the sound of Louis cackling in the background. Zayn knows it’s taking all of Louis’ self-control to hold back a wolf-whistle, and Zayn appreciates that. He does.

Once they’re in a cab, Zayn realizes that they’re still holding hands and that Harry is watching him and smiling. He’s silent, but something about his gaze is loud. This already feels more intimate than Zayn’s other one-night stands, although he and Harry haven’t actually spoken much. Zayn shifts and pulls his hand out of Harry’s.

“So, you and Louis seemed to hit it off,” Zayn says.

“Yeah,” Harry replies easily, slouching in his seat and still smiling at Zayn. “I like him. He’s nice. Told me a lot of interesting things about you.” He waggles his eyebrows. It makes him look ridiculous.

Zayn feels his heart begin to pound. Louis wouldn’t.

“Louis wouldn’t,” he says aloud.

“Nah, he didn’t,” Harry replies. He’s still grinning. Zayn feels out of his depth.

“Alright, then,” Zayn manages, and then the cab is stopping and Harry is paying their driver and grabbing Zayn’s hand and pulling him out of the car and up to Harry’s flat.

That’s—well. They’re back to the hand-holding, then.

Harry unlocks his flat with one hand still in Zayn’s, and then he’s pushing Zayn through the doorway. Zayn barely has time to give Harry’s flat a cursory glance—neat, homey, warm colors, smells vaguely of vanilla and something woodier—before Harry is shutting the door to the flat behind them and pressing Zayn against the closed door, kissing him deeply.

He’s rougher than Zayn anticipated, and Zayn is glad for it. Harry has one hand around the back of Zayn’s neck and the other gripping his hip, and within seconds he starts licking deeper into Zayn’s mouth, tasting of mint and vodka and something vaguely fruity.

Harry bites Zayn’s lip and licks over it to soothe the mark. In retaliation, Zayn tightens his grip on Harry’s ass and rolls his hips, grinding against Harry. Harry lets out a low moan and detaches from Zayn’s mouth, moving down and sucking on Zayn’s neck until Zayn is sure he can feel a bruise forming.

Harry pulls off and kisses the mark once, twice, before pressing his mouth back against Zayn and moving his hands to the hem of Zayn’s shirt. Zayn helps Harry take it off and then Harry’s hands are all over him, wide over Zayn’s stomach, moving up, thumb rubbing Zayn’s nipple—

“Bedroom,” Zayn chokes out. “Now.”

Harry mutters a quick, “Yeah,” and nods against Zayn’s neck, gripping his hand again and pulling him through the living room and into a doorway at the end of a hall.

They collapse onto Harry’s bed before Zayn can even glance around the room, legs tangled together. Harry laughs into Zayn’s mouth, and it makes Zayn’s chest flutter. He kisses Zayn, hard, and then moves down, pressing hot, wet kisses down Zayn’s jaw and neck.

“Your shirt,” Zayn gasps, and Harry has his shirt and trousers off before Zayn knows what’s happened. When Harry’s hands move to Zayn’s belt buckle, Zayn lifts his hips so Harry can slide Zayn’s jeans over his ass.

Once they’re both just in their boxers, Harry hands grab Zayn’s ass and squeezes tightly. Zayn moans, low, and arches his back, grinding his clothed cock against Harry’s. Fuck, he’s already so hard.

“What do you want?” Harry asks, his hips rolling against Zayn’s. Zayn’s hips hitch at the roughness of Harry’s voice.

“Want you to fuck me,” he replies, grabbing Harry’s hips and dragging him down to a better angle for their cocks to rub against each other.

Harry groans. “Yeah,” he chokes out, slipping off his boxers in one smooth movement and then reaching for Zayn’s. Zayn helps Harry pull his boxers off, eyes on Harry’s cock the entire time. It’s a lovely cock, long and thick and uncut. Before Zayn can even begin to reach for it, Harry has already ducked down and taken Zayn’s entire cock in his mouth in one swallow.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn chokes out, throwing his head back as Harry hollows his cheeks and sucks hard.

Zayn reaches a hand out and grabs Harry’s hair, Harry moaning appreciatively. When Zayn yanks a little, Harry moans even lower and takes Zayn’s cock so deep that he gags on it.

“Yeah,” Zayn manages as Harry continues to deep throat him, the cool metal of his rings pressed into Zayn’s thighs. Eventually, Harry pulls off and goes lower, mouthing at Zayn’s balls for a moment before pressing his tongue against Zayn’s rim, flat and hard.

Zayn’s hips jerk up and he squirms a bit, but Harry places firm hands on his thighs and holds him down as he presses firm, wet kisses against Zayn’s rim before licking it again. Zayn lets out a noise close to a sob.

“Harry,” he manages. “That’s— _fuck_.”

Harry presses two fingers against Zayn’s rim, a blunt pressure that’s just a tease. Zayn feels like he’s going mad.

“Harry, come on,” he urges, and Harry finally loses his laser focus on Zayn’s ass and looks up at him. He looks a bit dazed, pupils blown and cheeks pink. Zayn pulls him up by his hair and Harry goes loose in his arms, letting Zayn drag him towards himself and kiss him, hot and hard.

“Fuck me,” Zayn demands.

Harry nods shakily, blindly reaching out towards the bedside table and pulling condoms and lube out of a drawer. He squeezes some of the lube onto his fingers, rubbing them to warm them up, and then pushes two of them into Zayn in one smooth movement that makes Zayn gasp.

Zayn throws his head back as Harry fingers him, first gently, then with vigor. He lets out a low moan when he feels a sharp, intensely pleasurable pain on his chest, and looks down to see Harry biting his nipple and then laving over it with his tongue.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Harry says against his chest, and then he’s pushing a third finger into Zayn and fucking him even harder.

“I’m ready,” Zayn groans. “Come on, fuck me, I’m ready.”

Harry doesn’t argue. He immediately pulls out his fingers and rolls on a condom, then squirts some more lube into his palm to slick up his cock, lining the head up against Zayn. Zayn shudders at the proximity.

“Don’t tease,” he begs. “Please, just—”

He’s cut off when all the breath leaves his body as Harry enters him in one smooth thrust. He’s thick, and Zayn feels stretched and full and alert.

“ _Yes_ ,” Zayn breathes. “Move.”

Harry complies, moving his hips in shallow, careful thrusts until Zayn grips his hips and pulls Harry towards him, hard. Harry gets the message. He starts to move his hips more forcefully, nailing Zayn deeper and angling his hips until he finally hits Zayn’s prostate.

“ _Fuck_!” Zayn shouts, hips arching up.

Harry starts nailing Zayn’s prostate with each thrust. Zayn grips Harry’s shoulders and then drags his nails down Harry’s back, leaving sharp red lines. Harry moans and thrusts faster.

Harry leans down to kiss Zayn, wet and open, then mouths down Zayn’s chin and bites his jaw. Moving back up to Zayn’s ear, he whispers, “Like that?” He bites down on Zayn’s ear, gently.

Zayn shudders. “Yeah, _fuck_ —” He arches his hips up and clenches, making Harry groan deep in his ear. “I’m close.”

Harry looks at him with sharp eyes, his large hands gripping Zayn’s hips firmly. He moves one hand to Zayn’s thigh and hitches it up so that Zayn’s leg is resting on Harry’s shoulder, and suddenly the angle is somehow _better_. Zayn has no idea how Harry is doing this.

“Think you can come like this?” Harry asks, breathless. He’s still fucking Zayn ruthlessly. “Without your cock being touched?”

Zayn has only done it once before, and that was a long time ago. But now, he feels like it’s definitely possible—everything is so much, feels so good.

“Yeah,” he says, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. “Yeah, I can.”

Harry’s thrusting remains rhythmic and hard. “You’re so fucking hot,” Harry hisses, mouthing at Zayn’s neck. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Zayn soaks in the praise, rolling his hips up to meet Harry. He feels right on the edge, his entire body thrumming with energy. Harry nails him with one particularly hard thrust at just the right angle, and suddenly all Zayn can see is white, an electric feeling running through him. He arches his hips up and shouts, his cock jerking and spraying a line of come across Harry’s stomach.

Harry lets out a low groan and comes within a few more thrusts, collapsing against Zayn’s chest when he’s done. He’s heavy and sweaty, but something about his firm weight feels comforting. He’s breathing hot and wet against Zayn’s neck.

Zayn lays in the post-orgasmic haze for a while before he nudges at Harry, who’s still nosing at his neck. Harry rolls off of Zayn agreeably, turning on his side and hitting Zayn with that wide, dimpled smile.

“How was it?” he asks, looking smug. He’s shameless.

Zayn tries to put on an unimpressed face. “It was alright,” he replies, but his voice is still breathless and higher than usual. Harry doesn’t stop grinning.

“Shut up,” Zayn manages, but before he can say anything else, Harry is already leaning forward and kissing him gently. It’s the softest kiss of the night and it leaves Zayn feeling even looser, relaxed to his bones.

Harry pulls back and smiles, sweet. Then, he says, “Bagsy little spoon.”

Zayn huffs out a laugh, but wraps his arms around Harry agreeably when Harry turns over and presses his back against Zayn’s chest. Zayn buries his face in Harry’s curls and finds himself falling asleep almost immediately, before he can even think of leaving Harry’s place before morning.

\--

When Zayn wakes up, Harry is already awake and staring at him.

“S’creepy,” Zayn mumbles, squinting at Harry. As he shifts, he realizes that Harry’s large, warm hand is on his hip. He shivers a bit and tries to shift closer to Harry without being too obvious. Judging by Harry’s grin and the clench of his fingers against Zayn’s hip, Zayn didn’t succeed.

“No, it’s not,” Harry replies. His thumb is stroking over Zayn’s skin and his hair is tangled. His eyes and big and sleepy. He looks very, very lovely. “It’s human nature. You’re too pretty to not look at.”

“Human nature,” Zayn scoffs.

Harry begins to sing.

“ _If they say, why, why? Tell ‘em that is human nature_.” He has a lovely singing voice, raspy and low and a little unsteady. Zayn still feels out of his depth.

As Harry leans in to kiss him, Zayn pushes him back.

“I have to brush my teeth,” Zayn whispers. Harry rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss Zayn anyway, close-mouthed and quick. Then, he climbs out of bed and pulls on the dark briefs he had been wearing last night. Zayn greedily takes in his first view of Harry in daylight—his broad shoulders, his soft hips, his bright eyes, the mess of tattoos on his body.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and grins like he knows what Zayn is thinking. “You’ll find a spare toothbrush in the cabinet,” Harry says. “I’ll make breakfast. You can come downstairs when you’re ready.” And with one last smile, he’s out of the room.

Zayn stays in bed for another minute, feeling disoriented. He doesn’t stay for breakfast when he does this, usually. Not because he has a rule or anything, but because he prefers to make his way out early in the morning. But he finds that he doesn’t mind staying for breakfast with Harry and, well, it’s not like Harry had asked for his opinion.

He gets up and pulls on his boxers and jeans and looks around for his shirt for a moment before remembering that it had come off in the living room last night. He goes into the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. There’s a dark bruise on his collarbone and his hair is tangled beyond repair. His lips are swollen and chapped. He looks well-shagged, really.

Zayn opens the cabinet and finds the spare toothbrush that Harry mentioned. It’s pink and has white cats on the handle. Perplexed, Zayn opens the toothbrush and stares at it for a minute before brushing his teeth with it. When he’s done, he nearly tosses it in the trash can by the toilet, but pauses. He can’t imagine that Harry wants it now, but somehow it feels rude to throw this specific toothbrush into Harry’s trash can, where he could see it later. Zayn stares at the cats on the toothbrush for another minute before finally putting it in his pocket.

When he comes downstairs, Harry is bustling around in the kitchen, doing what looks like ten different things at once. At the moment, he’s fiddling with a coffee maker while a pan of bacon sizzles on the stove next to a pan with a pancake that looks vaguely like Mickey Mouse.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Zayn says, and Harry jerks and spills some ground coffee onto the countertop.

Harry turns around to look at Zayn, then looks at him, eyeing him up and down appreciatively. Harry is wearing nothing but his tight black briefs and an apron that says “Kiss the Cook.” Zayn is unsurprised.

“I wanted to,” Harry replies easily, going back to the coffee maker. “Do you take coffee or tea? I’m making coffee for myself, but I can put on the kettle.”

“Coffee’s fine,” Zayn says. Harry hums and moves back to the pans, flipping one pancake onto a plate and then making a new shape with the batter. This time, Zayn has no clue what it’s supposed to be.

“What is that?” Zayn asks, peering into the pancake skillet while Harry places a few slices of bacon on the two plates. “Oh, uh, I can’t have bacon. I’m Muslim.”

“Hm?” Harry says absently, looking up at Zayn. “Oh. That’s supposed to be a bicycle. I’m not very good at making shapes yet. And this is turkey bacon. Is that okay?”

“Oh, uh—yeah, that’s great, thanks,” Zayn says, surprised. Harry smiles at him and goes back to the pancakes.

“Anything I can do?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah, actually,” Harry replies. “There should be some cubed fruit in the fridge. Do you mind putting some in two bowls? The bowls are in the cabinet left of the sink.”

Zayn finds the fruit in a large bowl in the fridge and transfers a bit to the smaller bowls Harry mentioned. By the time he brings the fruit to the table and pours out two cups of coffee, Harry is coming to the table bearing two plates laden with pancakes and bacon. Zayn’s mouth waters.

They sit down to eat, both ravenous after last night, and there’s silence for a few minutes. Then, Zayn says, “You treat all your shags to breakfasts this nice?”

It’s the wrong to say, Zayn can tell immediately. Harry’s shoulders stiffen and his hands freeze above his plate. His eyes sharpen for a second before he puts an easy smile back on his face, but Zayn can see that the edges of Harry’s smile are still tight.

“Nothing wrong with being nice,” Harry says easily, but this Harry is miles from the easy, guileless Harry from this morning.

“I didn’t—” Zayn fumbles. “I mean, I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sorry.”

At Zayn’s words, Harry’s shoulders relax and he gives Zayn an apologetic smile.

“Nah, you’re fine,” Harry says, taking a sip of coffee. “S’not you. Just something someone else said to me recently that, like, set me off? Made me a little oversensitive, I guess. I know you didn’t mean anything, mate.” He smiles again, and this time it looks real.

Zayn is floored by Harry’s easy honesty, especially for someone who’s essentially a stranger. But then, Zayn can already tell that this is the kind of person Harry is—the kind who gives himself away. Zayn’s never been like that.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and the words feel inadequate, but Harry just waves him off.

They eat in comfortable silence for another minute before Harry says something, but his mouth is so full of pancake that Zayn can’t even begin to tell what it was. At Zayn’s confused look, Harry laughs and swallows before speaking again.

“Sorry,” he says. “Bad habit. Mum is always on me about it.”

“As she should be,” Zayn replies before he can stop himself. God, he sounds like Liam. But Harry just lets out a delighted laugh.

“Anyway,” Harry continues, “I was trying to say that you seem like you’re really good at reading people.”

Zayn is surprised. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth. “S’why you’re a good DJ, innit? You’re good at reading a crowd.”

Zayn shrugs. “Reading a crowd and reading individual people is different.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “And you’re good at both.”

“You’re not so bad at it yourself, mate. I saw you working that crowd last night.”

Harry’s eyes glint. He looks pleased. “So you were watching me.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You know I was watching you.”

Harry shrugs, shameless. “It’s still nice to hear.”

And with that, he wipes his mouth neatly on a napkin and ducks under the table, his hands already pulling down Zayn’s trousers and briefs. Zayn can feel Harry’s breath on his cock. He’s certainly not going to say no to a breakfast blowjob, but then there’s a pause and a muffled laugh.

“Did you keep my Hello Kitty toothbrush in your pocket?”

\--

Eventually, Zayn gathers all his belongings and puts on all his clothes. He’s standing at Harry’s doorstep and Harry has finally stopped pouting about Zayn refusing to shower with him.

(“Why not?” Harry had asked pitifully.

“Because I know what you actually mean by shower and I’m already running late,” Zayn replied, laughing.

“Late for what?” Harry asked.

“I have to do something,” Zayn said, and Harry had left it at that.)

Now, Zayn is about to head out when Harry says, “You should give me your number.”

Zayn hesitates before taking out his phone and replying, “Why don’t you give me yours instead?” Zayn would rather have the ball in his court. That way, he doesn’t have to call if he doesn’t want to.

Harry seems to understand, because he doesn’t argue. He takes Zayn’s phone and plugs his number in, handing it back to Zayn. _Harry Styles_ , it reads. Harry has put an eggplant emoji by his first name. Zayn decides he’ll be better off if he doesn’t ask why. He pockets the phone.

“Thanks,” he says. “For last night and for breakfast.”

Harry grins. “And for the blowjob this morning,” he prompts. “If we’re being thorough.”

Zayn laughs. “Yeah. And for that.”

“No problem, Zayn.” Harry’s laugh is still so surprisingly nice. Zayn hadn’t realized how much he liked dimples. “You should use that number.”

“I—yeah,” Zayn manages, unwilling to make a promise he may not keep. But Harry just smiles and leans in to kiss Zayn, slow and deep until Zayn feels a little dizzy.

“Bye, Zayn,” Harry breathes against his mouth.

Zayn feels a low tingle in his stomach all the way to the tube.

\--

Trisha answers the door in a bright yellow nightgown. “Hi, love,” she says sleepily, pulling Zayn in for a hug.

“Hi, Mum,” Zayn says, hugging her tightly and moving into the house.

“You’re just in time, dear, I just finished cleaning Farah up after breakfast.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Zayn says softly, walking into the kitchen and lighting up as he sees Farah. She’s wearing a light blue dress over white stockings and her dark curls are in a loose ponytail.

“Baba!” she shrieks excitedly as she sees Zayn.

“Hi, baby,” Zayn smiles, holding out his arms to his daughter and laughing as she jumps into them and starts to narrate her day excitedly.

She has a sparkly flower clip in her hair that’s coming loose, so Zayn pulls it out and clips it back neatly in as Farah tells her story.

“—and then Nana said I could help her cut the butter, and I did it with a fake knife, but she said I can use a real one when I’m older.”

Trisha is laughing in the entryway to the kitchen. “It’s not a fake knife, dear,” she says. “It’s just plastic. That means it’s not as sharp.”

“Oh,” Farah says, and then she falls silent for a moment as she processes this new information. Farah is a thoughtful child. She’s a lot like Zayn—she likes to take time to think, to work things out in her own head.

Zayn loves her so, so much.

“Thanks for the help, Mum,” Zayn says, turning to Trisha.

“Of course, dear,” Trisha replies, and then, more quietly, “I wish you didn’t still have to work those late nights at the club, love.”

Zayn sighs. “Farah, why don’t you go get your stuff, yeah?” he asks. As Farah runs off agreeably, Zayn turns to Trisha and says, “It’s only for a bit longer, Mum. I’ll have my degree soon, yeah?”

Zayn had met Perrie in college and gotten her pregnant when they were nineteen. The conversations that followed had been lengthy and emotionally draining, but the couple had eventually arrived to the conclusion that Perrie wasn’t ready for a child and Zayn wasn’t ready to give one up. When Farah was born, Zayn had dropped out of school to raise her and Perrie had stepped out of the picture.

Zayn hadn’t always been the best person back then—hadn’t always been good to Perrie. But having Farah changed everything. Having Farah meant Zayn would never put himself first again. Having Farah meant that Zayn would always love her more than anything else in the world—including himself.

There wasn’t a moment of raising Farah that had been easy, but Zayn never regretted her. He had a lot of help from his parents. For the first three months that Zayn had Farah, his sister Waliyah had even flown over from America to live with Zayn and help him out.

When Zayn dropped out of school, he started working at a restaurant bar. But when Farah turned three, Zayn decided that he wanted to go back to school and get his education degree so that he could start teaching like he’d always wanted. He started working Friday and Saturday nights at a club to make the extra money to pay for online classes. At the club, Zayn met Louis, who bartended there five nights a week. Zayn and Louis got close fast, and eventually Zayn worked up the courage to introduce Louis to Farah.

Zayn wasn’t ashamed of Farah, ever. She was just such a big part of him, and Zayn didn’t like to reveal himself like that. More importantly, Zayn wasn’t willing to bring people into Farah’s life that wouldn’t stay.

Louis and Farah hit it off immediately, of course, because Louis had probably never met a baby who didn’t love him. Soon after, Louis had introduced Zayn to Liam, who owned a garage just a block down from the restaurant where Zayn worked, and the three had become inseparable.

At first, Zayn hadn’t been sure what to do with Louis and Liam. They were always at each other’s throats, it seemed. It took some time before Zayn realized that their bickering was mostly fond and that there was almost no circumstance in which they wouldn’t indulge each other.

And so Zayn unwittingly became part of this new little family—of him and Farah and Louis and Liam, and his heart was so full of love for all the people in his life that sometimes he had to stop whatever he was doing and just breathe.

Zayn has less than a year of online classes left, and then he could start getting in-class experience. Soon after, he’d be teaching English. Getting this degree felt like the first thing Zayn had done for himself in a long time. It felt good.

“That’s true, love,” Trisha says, smiling. “My boy is going to be a teacher.”

“Baba’s gonna be the _best_ teacher,” Farah says confidently. Zayn turns around to see her back in the room, the clip in her hair loose again and her shoes on the wrong feet. He grins and picks her up.

“As long as I’m the best in your eyes, love,” Zayn laughs, kissing her forehead. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

Farah nods. “Bye, Nana!” she yells in Zayn’s ear, even though Trisha is standing right next to them. Trisha laughs.

“Bye, my love,” she says. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, yeah?” Farah nods.

“Bye, Mum.” Zayn kisses his mother’s forehead, hitches Farah up on his hip, and heads out.

\--

“No.”

“Farah, _please_. Just finish this last bite, love.”

“I don’t wanna.”

Zayn lets out a frustrated huff. “Farah Jamilah Malik, if you don’t finish your lunch, you’re not watching any television for a week.”

“I am _not eating carrots_!” Farah yells, and then she bursts into tears.

Zayn feels like crying himself. Farah has been impossible for the past few days, and he’s so tempted to just give up. But she’s always been a picky eater, and Zayn knows that if he doesn’t instill healthy habits in her now, she’s never going to learn.

He’s just so _tired_.

“Farah—” he tries again, but then there’s a knock at the door.

“Stay here,” Zayn sighs, standing up and going to the door. When he opens it, he finds Louis and Liam standing on the other side.

“Hey, guys. What are you—” Zayn starts.

“Shut the fuck up, Malik,” Louis interrupts, pushing past Zayn and walking into the house. Zayn looks at Liam.

Liam offers an apologetic smile. “I think he’s in a bit of a strop because you haven’t been answering our calls lately, mate.”

Zayn winces. Nothing ever makes him feel as guilty as Liam being kind when he fucks up. “I’m sorry, man. I just have a lot due for my classes and I’m having trouble balancing it with work and Farah has just been so irritable lately—”

Liam pulls Zayn in for a hug and Zayn stops talking and sags against him. Liam feels and big and solid, like always, and Zayn feels briefly tempted to just close his eyes and fall asleep.

“It’s alright, mate,” Liam soothes, rubbing Zayn’s back. “It’s all good, yeah? We just worry. You know how Louis gets.”

Zayn does know how Louis gets. He and Liam walk into the kitchen to find Louis leaning close into Farah, speaking to her softly.

“You know he just worries, love, yeah? And carrots are so good for you, baby girl, and your baba just wants you to be healthy. So we can eat them for him, can’t we?” Louis always uses a conspirational tone with Farah, as if he’s letting her in on a secret. Farah loves it.

“Yes,” Farah says, and her voice is long-suffering and fond. She sounds like Liam. “I can do it for him.”

“There’s a girl,” Louis grins, pushing the carrots towards her. Farah picks up a carrot, sighs again, and puts it in her mouth. Weirdly enough, Zayn just feels like crying again.

Louis looks up and sees Zayn in the doorway. His eyes sharpen and the fond look he reserves for Farah—and occasionally Liam—turns into a glare. Zayn cowers.

Louis stands up and walks towards Zayn. “Liam, watch Farah,” he says as he grabs Zayn’s arm and drags him into the living room.

“You look like shit,” is the first thing Louis says once he and Zayn are seated on the couches in the living room. Zayn flinches.

“Thanks, mate,” he says sarcastically, but Louis looks unapologetic.

“Nope,” Louis says sharply. “You don’t get to play the victim. If things were so shit, why didn’t you just call me or Liam or, I don’t know, _your mum_? You know any of us would have taken Farah for a day while you figured things out.” Zayn tries to speak, but Louis interrupts him. “You need to fucking learn to ask for help when you need it, Zayn. You can’t just disappear on us for days on end.”

“Yes, I can,” Zayn hisses, angrily enough that Louis stops talking, surprise on his face. Zayn almost regrets snapping, but now his mouth is moving of its own accord. “Yes, I can, because Farah is _my_ daughter and I shouldn’t have a fucking breakdown every time she refuses to eat her carrots. I should be able to handle that by myself.” Zayn takes a deep, shaky breath. “And then you—and then you fucking come in and she _eats her carrots_. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, Louis? I’m her _dad_. I’m _exhausted_.”

And then, before Zayn knows what’s happening, he’s crying.

Louis deflates immediately. He pulls Zayn into his arms and hugs him tightly and Zayn forgets to be embarrassed. He buries his face in Louis’ chest and sobs while Louis strokes his back and whispers nonsensical assurances in Zayn’s ear until Zayn’s breathing has evened out.

“Zayn…” Louis’ sharp tone from earlier is gone. Now, he sounds hesitant. Zayn almost hates it more. Louis is so rarely delicate with anyone. “I didn’t—we know that you can do it, bro. You _are_ doing it. You’re such a good dad, Zayn, I—fuck.” This time, it’s Louis who has to stop and take a deep, unsteady breath. Zayn feels like _shit_. “Farah is so, so happy and so well-cared for, Zayn. I’m just saying you’re allowed to ask for help. You can do it alone, mate, but you don’t have to.” Louis grips Zayn’s knee and looks at him, earnest. It’s a strange look on him, makes Zayn wants his loud, obnoxious Louis back.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn manages. “I shouldn’t have disappeared.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Louis says. “But I shouldn’t have snapped at you. We good?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, squeezing Louis’ hand. “We’re good.”

The two sit on the couch for a bit longer and talk, the quiet sound of Liam talking to Farah coming from the kitchen. Eventually, Louis asks, “How come you never called Harry?”

Zayn startles at the subject change. It’s been two weeks since he saw Harry. He had looked at the contact in his phone several times, but never called. He’d liked Harry. He’d liked the sex, he’d liked how strange Harry was, how easygoing he was. But it wasn’t the right time for Zayn to find someone. He needed to be there for Farah.

“I don’t know,” he replies, but Louis gives him a look that makes it clear that his answer isn’t good enough.

“Did you have fun with him?” Louis asks. Zayn nods. Louis continues, “Did you like him?” Zayn sighs, but nods again. Louis rolls his eyes. “Then call him, Zayn.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I’m not looking for that right now, Lou. Not with Farah in the picture.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious!” Louis protests. “You’re allowed to fun, you know. Even with Farah in the picture.”

Zayn sighs. “It’s been two weeks, anyway. It’s too late to call. Let it go, Louis.”

Louis glares, then pauses. He looks down to check his watch and grins, eyes lighting up. Zayn is terrified already.

“Liam!” Louis calls. Liam is in the living room in an instant, Farah on his hip.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Stay here with Farah,” Louis orders. “I’m taking Zayn out.”

Liam nods agreeably and shifts Farah to his other hip. “We’ll have fun, Far, won’t we?” he asks, tickling her with his free hand. Farah giggles and agrees.

“Hold on—” Zayn tries, but Louis slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Nope. No arguments. We’re going out. Go shower and try to look human again. Also, tell Liam all the chores you haven’t had the chance to do. He’ll do them while we’re gone.” Louis looks extremely pleased by this plan.

“I’m not going to make Liam—” Zayn starts, but apparently no one is going to let him finish his sentences today, because Liam interrupts, “I don’t mind, mate. Just tell me what needs to get done.”

Zayn feels extremely loved and extremely harassed.

\--

Once Zayn is showered and dressed, Louis takes him to a coffee shop that’s fifteen minutes away from his flat. They pass at least five coffee shops on the way there, and Zayn doesn’t understand why they’ve come to this one, but he knows better than to question Louis.

Louis walks ahead of him and Zayn hears an excited voice say, “Hey, Louis!” Zayn looks towards the voice and finds that it comes from the barista behind the counter, who is—

“Harry?” Zayn asks, shocked. Harry is manning this little coffee shop it seems, his hair in a loose bun and a black apron over his white button-down. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up over his forearms and Zayn can make out Harry’s mermaid tattoo from across the shop. Harry is holding a tray of muffins and the shop is empty.

“Zayn?” Harry looks just as surprised. He glances between Zayn and Louis and then narrows his eyes at Louis. “ _Louis_ ,” Harry sighs, and Zayn is stunned to hear the same indulgently exasperated tone that he and Liam use with Louis coming from Harry.

“Louis?” Zayn asks. “What the hell is going on?”

Louis has that look on his face that he gets when he’s vaguely regretting a decision but is going to power through anyway.

“You weren’t going to do anything about this, clearly, and I think you need to give Harry a chance,” Louis says, face determined. Before Zayn can say anything, Harry cuts in.

“Lou, I don’t need you to _force_ me onto him, _Christ_.” Harry looks upset and Zayn feels inexplicably guilty, but once again he doesn’t get a chance to speak.

Louis says, “How many times do I have to tell you, this isn’t because he doesn’t like you, it’s because he’s an idiot.” Zayn chooses to ignore that.

“Louis—” Harry tries again, but Louis has clearly entered the bulldozing phase of his plan, because he yells, “Niall!”

A blonde lad comes out from the back of the shop. He’s wearing a white shirt that has the word CRAIC on it in bold capitals. His face lights up as he sees Louis.

“Louis! Hey mate, how’s it going?” the boy says with a wide grin. His accent is Irish.

“Doin’ well meself, Niall,” Louis replies. “Can Harry get off early today?”

Niall frowns and looks around the shop. “Sure, mate. We’re not too busy.” He turns to Harry. “Everything okay, Haz?”

Harry looks like he doesn’t know the answer to that question. He turns to Zayn. It’s the first time Harry’s looked directly at him since he first walked in, and Zayn feels overcome with the sensation of Harry’s full attention.

“Zayn,” Harry begins. “You don’t have to—I mean, I know how Louis gets—”

“Hey!” Louis protests. Everyone ignores him.

“—and I wouldn’t want you to—”

“Will you get coffee with me?” Zayn asks. Then, “Shit, you probably don’t want to go straight to another coffee shop, do you? We could do ice cream. Or something else? Anything. Shut the fuck up, Louis.”

Louis’ cackles fade to a giggle.

Harry’s laugh is like the sun. “Yeah,” he says brightly. “Ice cream sounds nice.”

Louis lets out a triumphant noise. He jumps over the counter and tugs at Harry’s apron. “I’ll man the counter,” he says confidently. Zayn has so many questions about the time Louis has apparently been spending here.

“Absolutely not,” replies Niall, so apparently Louis has spent enough time here that these people know him well enough to not trust him. “I’ll man the counter. You sit at a table and don’t break anything.”

“I am a _respectable bartender_ , Niall, I think I can handle a bit of Satan’s replacement for tea—”

“This is exactly why I can’t have you behind the counter, Louis.”

“Come on,” Harry says, grinning. “They’ll be at it forever.” He tugs off his apron and hands it to Niall along with a kiss on the cheek and a, “Thanks, Ni.” Then, he jumps over the counter, grabs Zayn’s hand, and tugs him out of the shop.

\--

“So you stayed in touch with Louis,” Zayn says, watching Harry lick his pistachio ice cream. Harry blushes.

“Uh, yeah,” Harry admits, pushing his hair back with his free hand. His other hand looks huge around the tiny ice cream cone. Zayn abruptly remembers how those thick, cool rings felt against his heated skin.

“But not in, like, a creepy way? Like, it wasn’t to keep up with you or anything. Louis and I really just hit it off, so he started coming to the coffee shop to hang out.” Harry licks his ice cream where it’s dripping. His tongue is very pink. He continues, “He didn’t tell me anything about you or anything. Just kept saying that it wasn’t my fault that you didn’t call.”

Zayn winces. “It wasn’t,” he says. Harry nods, but he doesn’t look at Zayn. Zayn sighs.

“I’m not very good at this,” Zayn admits. “Haven’t done it in a long time.”

“What, date?” Harry asks, but he doesn’t look judgmental—just curious.

“Yeah, I guess,” Zayn says. “Date. Pursue someone. Take time to—to do things for myself, as Louis would so gently put it.”

Harry considers this for a moment before he speaks. “Louis always talks about you like there’s something he’s not telling me.”

Zayn doesn’t want to lie. “There is, I guess. But no one wants to share everything on the first date, right?”

Harry grins. “Is that what this is, then? A date?”

Zayn spoons some ice cream into his mouth to buy himself some time. Then, he says, “Yeah. If—if that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want,” Harry says agreeably. “But not if you’re going to disappear on me again.” He doesn’t sound accusatory, just honest, but the memory of Louis saying the same thing is still sharp in Zayn’s mind, and Zayn flinches.

“I’m trying to be better about that,” Zayn says. “No promises, but—I’m really going to try.”

Harry looks at him, considering. He looks so intense, sometimes, when all of his attention is focused on Zayn. Harry’s eyes are sharp, his mouth pursed, and Zayn doesn’t know what to do with himself. Finally, Harry says, “You’re worth the risk,” and then he’s licking his ice cream again. It makes him look young.

“That’s—nice,” Zayn says faintly as Harry starts doing something with his tongue that makes him look decidedly _not_ young. Harry grins.

They end up going back to Harry’s apartment.

\--

Later, when they’re cuddling in bed and Zayn feels loose-limbed and well-fucked, Harry says, “Give me your number.”

Zayn closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

\--

“—and _then_ I told him that was rude and he should give Alice her toy back, please, and he did, just like you said!” Farah explains.

Liam nods seriously and says, “I’m very proud of you, Farah. You’re very smart and brave.” Farah beams.

Zayn grins at the two, who are currently playing some complicated game in Louis’ living room that Zayn doesn’t understand while Farah details her day to Liam. Liam had given Farah some advice about a bully at preschool some time ago, and apparently Liam’s advice (which to Louis’ fury had been _be nice_ ) had worked out.

Zayn turns to Louis and sees that Louis is also watching Liam and Farah fondly. When Louis catches Zayn looking, however, he wipes the expression off his face.

“I’m going to put the kettle on,” Louis says gruffly, standing up.

“I’ll come with,” Zayn says, following Louis into the kitchen. “I don’t understand that game anyway. I actually think Liam made up the rules so Farah would win every time.”

Louis scoffs. “He probably did. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”

Zayn decides that it would be best for his safety if he doesn’t mention that Farah also has Louis wrapped around her little finger. Louis opens one of the cabinets and pulls a box of tea out. He still has that stupidly fond look on his face, and Zayn knows that it’s not just for Farah.

As Zayn watches Louis busily move around his kitchen to make the tea, he says, “Have you thought about telling him?”

Louis doesn’t stop making tea. “Telling who what?” he asks distractedly.

Zayn takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, then. “Telling Liam you love him.”

Louis drops a tea bag. Zayn reaches down to pick it up and moves to hand it back to Louis. Louis doesn’t reach for it.

“What are you talking about?” Louis asks sharply. Zayn can already see him pulling up his defenses. This is why Zayn hadn’t wanted to interfere. Louis and Liam had been circling around each other for so long, both caught up in their delicate balance, and Zayn wasn’t sure whether he would cause more harm or good if he tried to push them toward each other. But Zayn was starting to think that maybe nothing would happen without some gentle nudging. Louis and Liam were both pretty oblivious.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Zayn says gently. “I think you should tell him, Lou. You may be surprised.”

Louis snatches the tea bag back from Zayn and turns back to the kettle. He begins pouring the water into cups. His hand is shaking. He says, “I am _not_ in love with Liam.”

Zayn frowns. “Louis, it’s okay—”

“Just drop it, Zee. Please?” And Louis so rarely gets that pleading look on his face that Zayn knows to back off.

“Okay, but if you ever want to talk—”

“Sure thing,” Louis interrupts, walking back out of the kitchen with the tea. Zayn follows.

Louis still looks a little shaken as he hands Liam his cup of tea. Zayn is starting to regret bringing anything up.

“Thanks, Lou,” Liam says brightly, bringing the cup to his lips. As he takes a sip, he winces. “Ah, Louis, I think this is yours.”

“Nope,” Louis says easily, but his mouth is tight. “It’s yours.”

Liam looks confused, but he doesn’t say anything. Zayn holds back a groan as he realizes that Louis intentionally didn’t make Liam’s tea how he liked it. Now he really regrets bringing anything up. Zayn shoots Liam an apologetic glance, but that just makes Liam look even more confused, so Zayn turns to Farah and asks her to explain the game she’s playing with Liam in a desperate attempt to distract everyone. Thankfully, Farah immediately launches into a complex explanation of the game.

Farah is halfway through teaching them the rules when there’s a knock at the door. “Strange,” Louis says, standing up. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

As Louis goes to open the door, Zayn continues to listen to Farah, Liam interjecting to help whenever she pauses. Then, Zayn hears Louis’ panicked, loud voice say, “Oh, Harry! What are you doing here, mate?”

Liam’s eyes widen. Zayn turns to see Harry obliviously pushing past a flustered Louis into the apartment. He’s saying, “I came to return some of those CDs you gave me, though I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just, like, make a Spotify playlist or something—” when he catches sight of Zayn and pauses. Zayn and Harry had been texting every day since their ice cream date a week ago, but they haven’t seen each other since.

“Hi, Zayn,” Harry says. He sounds a little unsure. Then, his eyes land on Farah and he lights up.

“Oh, hello!” he says happily, walking towards Farah and crouching down. “Who’s this beautiful young lady, then?” He grins and holds his hand out for Farah to shake. Farah looks delighted at being asked to do such an adult thing. She readily puts her hands in Harry’s and shakes, but leaves her hand in his when she’s done shaking. Harry looks pleased.

Louis and Liam freeze and look towards Zayn, but they already know what he’s going to say. Zayn would never lie about Farah in her presence.

Zayn takes a deep breath, watching Harry and his daughter holding hands. “This is my daughter,” he says, keeping his tone light for Farah’s sake. Zayn watches as Harry freezes momentarily, his eyes widening, before he relaxes his shoulders and puts an easy smile back on his face.

“And what’s your name, love?” Harry asks, still smiling easily at Farah, but Zayn can see the tension in the hard line of his shoulders. Farah blushes shyly.

“It’s Farah,” Zayn says softly. “It means joy.”

“That’s beautiful,” Harry replies, but he’s still not looking at Zayn. “It’s nice to meet you, Farah,” he says, squeezing Farah’s hand. “I’m Harry.”

“Hello, Harry,” Farah says shyly. “Are you friends with Uncle Louis?” And then, without waiting for a response, she says, “Do you want to play a game with me and Uncle Liam?”

“Farah—” Zayn starts, but Harry interrupts him and says, “Of course I do. Will you teach me the rules?”

“Yes, Liam says I’m good at teaching,” Farah says confidently, launching yet again into a very complicated explanation of Liam’s game. Harry seems to follow along easily enough, nodding seriously as Farah speaks. Once Farah has explained all the instructions, she, Liam, and Harry begin playing.  
Harry jokes around with Farah as they play, poking her stomach and telling dumb jokes that make her laugh. It makes Zayn’s skin itch. He feels nervous and claustrophobic, unprepared for Farah to meet Harry and like him.

He doesn’t realize that his breathing is getting faster until Louis whispers “Breathe, Zee,” and grips Zayn’s thigh with one hand. Zayn turns to look at Louis and Louis must see the panic in Zayn’s eyes, because he says, “Let’s go get everyone some snacks, bro,” and drags Zayn into the kitchen with him.

“I’m so sorry—” Louis tries, but Zayn gasps, “Not your fault, you didn’t know,” before Louis can finish.

“Zayn, love, deep breaths,” Louis says soothingly. He has one hand on the back of Zayn’s neck, firm and steady.

“I wasn’t ready,” Zayn chokes out, and Louis whispers, “I know, love, I know. But this isn’t as bad as you think it is, Zayn, I promise. Everything is going to be okay.”

“I wasn’t ready,” Zayn repeats, exhausted, but Louis is rubbing his back in smooth, even strokes and Zayn can feel his breaths evening out. “I wasn’t ready.”

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Zayn,” Louis reminds him. “Let’s go back in, come on.”

With his hand still on Zayn's back, Louis leads Zayn out of the kitchen and back into the living room, where Harry, Liam, and Farah are all wearing looks of intense concentration as they play the game. Zayn hears Farah yell, “Harry, that was silly!” as Harry goes, “Oh no, I guess you get the point then, Farah.” He’s grinning at her, mouth wide. Zayn’s heart aches. Louis shoots him a warning look, but Zayn can’t do this. He can’t.

“Farah,” Zayn says. “Let’s go home, love.”

Farah looks up at Zayn at frowns. Zayn sees Liam wearing an almost identical frown next to her. “But Baba, I don’t want to! I thought we were staying with Uncle Louis until dinner.”

Zayn runs his fingers through his hair. He feels scared, like he needs to get Farah out of here, now. “Farah, baby—”

“It’s fine, Zayn,” comes a quiet voice. It’s Harry. He’s watching Zayn, his eyes soft and tired and a little hurt. “I’ll leave.”

Zayn doesn’t know what to do. “Harry—” he tries, but Harry doesn’t seem to want to hear what he has to say, which is probably for the best, because Zayn isn’t sure what he has to offer.

“It was lovely meeting you, Miss Farah,” Harry says, reaching out to squeeze Farah’s hand and then bopping her nose. He’s so charming, Zayn thinks despairingly. He’s so good with her.

Farah giggles. “You too, Mister Harry,” she says.

Harry stands up and grabs his coat from the couch, where Louis is sitting. Louis says, “I’ll see you later, Harry?” It comes out as a question. Louis so rarely sounds unsure.

Harry grins at Louis and reaches out to muss up Louis’ hair. Louis slaps Harry away and reaches up to fix his hair with a pout, but he can’t wipe the hesitantly hopeful look off his face. Harry laughs. “Yeah, Lou,” he says. “Of course you’ll see me.” He grips Louis’ shoulder briefly and without a single glance towards Zayn, he’s gone.

Zayn lets out a shaky breath.

“Harry was nice,” Farah declares. Then, she says, “I’m tired.”

“Why don’t I go put you down for a nap, babe?” Louis offers. Farah rubs her eyes and yawns, probably playing up her tiredness so that Louis will carry her to his bedroom. Louis laughs like he knows what she’s doing, but swings her up into his arms and walks off to his bedroom, giving Zayn a look over his shoulder. Zayn isn’t entirely sure what the look means, but he’s assuming it’s some variant of _calm the fuck down_.

As soon as Farah is out of the room, Zayn collapses on the couch. Liam immediately stands up from his spot on the floor and comes to sit next to Zayn and throw an arm around him. Zayn resists for only a moment—he’s had enough breakdowns today—before burying himself into Liam’s side, pressing his face against Liam’s chest, and letting out a deep, shuddering breath.

“Oh, Zayn,” Liam says softly, and Zayn lets himself enjoy Liam’s nonjudgmental, silent support for a moment before Liam ruins it by saying, “Why is it such a bad thing that Harry’s met Farah? They got along really well, babe, I promise.”

Zayn groans, but doesn’t move from Liam’s side. “It’s scary,” he mumbles into Liam’s side, hoping Liam can’t hear him, but of course Liam does.

“Why is it scary, babe?” Liam asks, rubbing over Zayn’s hair soothingly. Zayn sighs.

“I can’t just let people into Farah’s life like that, Li,” Zayn says. “Stuff like this, it’s—it’s not going to last. I can’t give Farah false hope that someone’s going to stay when they’re not.” Zayn clenches his eyes shut as he feels them tearing up. He is not going to cry over this. “You know how she is. She just—she loves everyone so _hard_ and so _fast_ and—I can’t risk her getting hurt. I can’t.”

“ _Zayn_ ,” Liam says softly, and he sounds so kind and worried that Zayn feels the tears start to spill over. Liam clutches him tighter. “You can’t protect her from everything.” Zayn doesn’t respond, just buries himself further into Liam’s chest.

Liam hesitates for a moment before he speaks again. “Zayn,” he says. “Is it possible that you’re also a bit scared of getting hurt yourself?”

Zayn starts crying harder. “I—I don’t know what to do,” he hitches between sobs. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Zayn, Zayn,” Liam whispers, like he’s on repeat, but somehow it’s comforting for Zayn to hear Liam saying his name and feel Liam’s broad hand stroking his back.

\--

Zayn stares at his phone.

“Do it,” Louis orders.

“What if he doesn’t want me to?” Zayn asks.

“Then he’ll say no and you’ll move on with your life. But if you don’t try, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Louis, be nice,” Liam scolds. Louis huffs.

“He doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Zayn says tiredly. “Why would he want anything to do with a guy who lied about having a kid?”

“Because Harry’s a big fucking sop who’s probably more upset that you lied to him than he is about you having a kid,” Louis replies sharply, wincing as Liam kicks him in the shin.

“Be _nice_ , Lou,” Liam tries again.

Louis whips around to glare at Liam. “Fuck off, Liam. What would you know about relationships anyway?” he bites out. Liam looks startled, because after all this time, Liam is somehow still always surprised when Louis lashes out.

But Louis knew that this was too far. Sophia had broken up with Liam over a year ago and Louis knew that Liam still thought it was his fault. Before Zayn can say anything, Liam stands up and walks out of the room, hurt etched on his face.

“ _Louis_ ,” Zayn hisses. For once, Louis doesn’t say anything.

Zayn wants to yell, but Farah is still asleep from where Louis put her down for her nap and Liam would hear him if he yelled anyway. Zayn takes a deep breath.

“Lou,” he says gently. “I am _sorry_ about bringing up the thing with you and Liam, okay? But the way to react to that is not to be an ass to Liam. You’re hurting his feelings, bro. That was too fucking far.”

“I haven’t got the slightest idea as to what you’re talking about, Zayn.” Now, Louis is wearing that face that he wears when he’s around strangers and he needs to put on a front. Zayn hates that face.

“Fine,” Zayn huffs. “But if you can’t trust me enough to talk to me about this, don’t expect me to listen to your advice about Harry.” He turns to go find Liam.

 _“Zayn_.” Louis is gripping his arm. He looks scared. “It’s—it’s not that I don’t trust you, mate.”

Zayn sighs, drags Louis over to the couch. “I know. Can we talk about this?”

Louis groans and rubs his hands over his face, and then mumbles into them.

“Didn’t catch that, mate,” Zayn says softly.

“I’ll fuck it up,” Louis repeats, louder this time.

“Lou—” Zayn starts, but Louis keeps going.

“You know I didn’t even fucking know until you told me? Like, I actually had no idea. And then you said I was in love with him and I thought, fuck me, I’ve been in love with him forever.” Louis looks like he’s going to cry. “But it doesn’t matter, because if I did anything about it I’d ruin everything. I’d fuck it up, how could I not? How could a cock like me ever be good for someone as fucking _nice_ as Liam fucking Payne?”

“ _Louis_ —” Zayn tries again, but Louis isn’t done.

“At least I have him as a friend. At least I have that. I’m not going to fuck it all up by telling him I’m in love with him.” Louis shudders a bit. Zayn runs a hand through his hair.

“You have to try, Lou,” Zayn says softly. “I think Liam loves you a lot. And I think he, like, _gets_ you. You won’t fuck it up. You know each other too well.”

Louis looks abruptly small and terrified. “I can’t lose him,” Louis whispers. Zayn grips Louis and hugs him tightly.

“You won’t,” Zayn says, suddenly more sure of this then he’s ever been of anything. “You won’t.”

Zayn runs his fingers through Louis’ hair for a while as Louis calms down. Then, he says, “You have to go apologize to Liam.”

Louis stiffens under him. “I never apologize to Liam.”

Zayn winces. “Might be time to change that, mate,” he prods gently. “If you ever want to take this further.”

Louis freezes and is quiet for some time. Then, he says, “How about this—I’ll apologize to Liam if you text Harry.”

“Louis, this is not some sort of fucked up _exchange_ —”

“Fine, then no apology from me.” Louis looks smug, but it’s still clearly a front. Zayn wants to smack him.

They stare each other down for a bit before Zayn finally gives in, because Louis always gets what he wants.

“Apologize to Liam first,” Zayn says. “Then I’ll text Harry.”

Louis looks like he wants to argue, but Zayn quells him with a glare. Louis huffs out a sour “ _Fine_ ,” and gets up off the couch to go find Liam.

Once Louis is gone, Zayn slouches against the cushions before he hears a quiet, “Baba!” from Farah’s room. He shoots up off the couch and rushes to her room.

Farah is sitting up in bed, her eyes sleepy and her clothes rumpled. “Baba,” she says tiredly. “I woke up. Stay with me until I fall asleep, please?”

“Of course, baby,” Zayn says softly, pulling a chair up to Farah’s bed and smiling at Farah as she wraps herself back into her blankets and snuggles back into her bed.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Zayn hears a quiet voice say, and fuck, Louis and Liam must be in the guest room next to Farah’s. He looks down at Farah, but she doesn’t seem to be listening, her eyes closed and her breathing even. But she’s not asleep yet, and Zayn said he wouldn’t leave the room until she was.

Besides, he’s curious to see how this goes.

“ _You’re—what?_ ” Liam sounds shocked.

“ _I didn’t mean it_ ,” Louis insists, and when Liam doesn’t respond for a while, he adds, “ _I’m trying to apologize for being mean, Liam._ ”

And Liam, sweet, honest idiot that he is, says, “ _But you never apologize for being mean._ ”

Zayn winces. For a few moments, Louis doesn’t say anything, and Zayn can’t see his face so he’s not sure if Louis is preparing to tear Liam apart or controlling himself before he says something he regrets. Zayn really, _really_ hopes it’s the second one.

“ _Well then, Liam,_ ” Louis starts, and Zayn clenches his fists as he prepares for impact, but Louis finishes, “ _It’s quite time for me to change that, isn’t it?_ ” Zayn’s shoulders drop.

Liam doesn’t reply, but Zayn is sure that he looks extremely earnest. Zayn feels proud of Louis—he really hopes that things work out for them.

He sighs and looks down at his phone. A deal’s a deal.

 _I’m sorry_ , Zayn types out, then immediately deletes it. He should probably apologize in person. He remembers that Harry wanted to take him out to dinner. He probably doesn’t want that now, but apparently Zayn is a masochist, because he types out, _Can I take you to dinner this weekend?_  
He hesitates for a moment, then sends it. To his surprise, the reply comes immediately.

It reads, _Why? Do you actually want that?_

Zayn frowns, rubs his hand over the back of his neck. _Of course I do._

 _I don’t know if I can be involved with someone who doesn’t trust me at all_ , Harry sends. And then, because he’s apparently the most open person Zayn’s ever met, he sends, _You really hurt my feelings._

Zayn takes a deep breath. _Let me make it up to you. Please. Saturday at 6? I’ll pick you up._

There’s no reply for five minutes. Louis and Liam are still in the guest room, and Zayn can hear their hushed voices, speaking so softly now that Zayn can’t hear them. Eventually, Harry sends a simple, _Okay._

Zayn breathes easier.

\--

Harry looks more hesitant than Zayn has seen him yet. Zayn has never been much of initiator, but now is definitely the time to step it up. He made a mistake; it’s time to fix it.

“You look lovely,” Zayn says. It’s true. Harry is wearing tight black jeans a blue shirt that’s unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His moth tattoo is peeking out of the shirt. There’s a deep part in his hair, which is loose around his face and is almost brushing his shoulders. He looks sharp and tense. It makes Zayn’s heart ache.

“Thank you,” Harry says, but his voice is distant and polite. Zayn fucked up so, _so_ badly.

“I fucked up so, _so_ badly,” Zayn says. Best to go for honesty. Harry looks surprised at the openness of the statement, which is probably all Zayn needs to know about his contribution to this relationship. He’s been pretty shit.

“Let’s talk about it at dinner, okay?” Harry says softly, and his voice is still tight, but it feels kinder now, warmer. Zayn lets himself relax a little.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. They start walking. Zayn leads them to a Thai restaurant. It’s one of his favorites, warm and intimate with great food. Once they’re seated and they’ve ordered their meals, Zayn takes a deep breath. He thought a lot about what he wants to say tonight.

“Harry,” he starts. Harry looks wary. Zayn wants to kick himself. He pauses, takes another breath.

“Harry,” he repeats. “I fucked up. I fucked up, and I’m sorry.”

This is not going as well as Zayn planned. Harry doesn’t say anything, so Zayn keeps going. “I should have told you about Farah.” He pauses, unsure of what to say next. Luckily, Harry interrupts.

“I wouldn’t have run just because I found out you had a daughter,” Harry says. His shoulders are hunched.

“No, I know,” Zayn replies hurriedly, running a hand through his hair. Harry looks disbelieving, so Zayn amends, “Well, I didn’t _know_. But I didn’t think you would.” He sighs. “It wasn’t about that, though. It’s just…Farah, she’s my everything. And I want to protect her from the world. I don’t want to introduce her to people who’ll just leave.”

Harry looks unsure. “I don’t have a child,” he says, and then he doesn’t speak again. Zayn nods in encouragement, so Harry continues, “But that’s not a way to live. For you or for your daughter.”

Zayn feels angry for a moment, and Harry looks like he’s aware that he overstepped. But then Zayn’s anger fades as quickly as it came, and he says, very quietly, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Harry smiles. His dimples pop up, and Zayn feels inexplicably fond. “No parents do,” Harry says. “Kids are more resilient than we give them credit for.”

 _But I can’t risk that_ , says a sharp voice in Zayn’s head. _I can’t take risks with her_. Zayn closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, Harry is watching him warily, smile gone. _Fuck_ , why is Zayn so bad at this?

“Farah is pretty resilient,” Zayn admits, smiling a little, and it must have been the right thing to say, because now Harry’s smile is back.

“Tell me about her,” Harry says. He looks expectant and kind. Zayn hesitates for a moment before deciding it’s the least he can do.

It’s surprisingly easily. He and Harry stay at the restaurant for two hours, and Zayn talks to Harry about everything. He tells him about getting Perrie pregnant four years ago, about how he wasn’t good to her and he understands why she couldn’t stay and raise a child with him. He talks about raising Farah while he’s in school, about how much his mother helps him, about how Liam and Louis are his steady rocks. He tells Harry about what a picky eater Farah is and how she demands to brush her own hair but always ends up tangling it more. He tells Harry about stealth-brushing Farah’s hair in the dark once she goes to bed and Harry laughs so hard that he spits a bit of water into Zayn’s face. It’s both gross and helplessly endearing.

In return, Harry tells Zayn about himself. He talks about meeting Niall at school and then working at the coffee shop that Niall’s family owned. He talks about wanting to be a musician and about how close he is to his mother and sister. He admits that he wishes he had finished school and that he’s thinking about going back to get a degree in music business. He tells Zayn that it had been Niall who had dragged him to the club that night he and Zayn met, and that Niall had gone off with some chick almost the minute they got to the club.

Harry tells awful jokes all night, makes several puns about breadsticks—only two of them make sense and none of them are funny. But he has something about him, a charming grin and an easy presence, that makes the night fun and comfortable and warm. Something about the way he looks at Zayn makes Zayn feel like the center of the room, although Zayn can’t help but feel that anyone with Harry’s attention on them would feel that way.

But overall, it’s fun and it’s nice. Zayn still has a small ball of anxiety curling in his stomach when he thinks of Farah, but Harry eases him. Harry is so open and relaxed, all wide smiles and honesty. He isn’t jaded yet, Zayn thinks, but maybe it’s more than that.

At the end of the night, Harry invites Zayn to come over to his, but Zayn tells Harry that he has to get back to his place and relieve Liam and Louis of babysitting duty. Harry nods understandingly, then asks, “Can I see her again, soon?”

Zayn feels a hot, nervous clench in his stomach, but he pushes it down. He takes a deep breath, then says, “Yes,” the word heavy on his tongue.

Harry seems to understand the weight of it, because he says, “Thank you,” in a quiet, reverent voice that sounds like he understands what this means to Zayn. Zayn nods, then leans in to kiss him.

Harry is rough and warm, his lips slightly chapped and the barest scattering of stubble across his chin. He licks into Zayn’s mouth and Zayn lets him in, gripping the back of Harry’s neck tightly and biting down gently on his lower lip. When Zayn finally pulls away, Harry’s lips are red and wet and his eyes are bright. Zayn has to look away.

“I have to go,” Zayn says, and Harry nods, leans in for one last, chaste kiss, and says, “Okay.”

Zayn can’t move. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, and Harry laughs, dimples popping up.

“See you soon, Zayn,” Harry says, eyes still so bright. Zayn can’t help but laugh a little. His stomach is a mess of nerves and butterflies. He’s really gone for Harry already, but he can’t even bring up the proper amount of worry right now. It just feels _good_.

“Yeah,” Zayn repeats uselessly. “See you soon.” And he finally manages to walk away, Harry laughing behind him. The sound is deep and lovely.

\--

“Hey, lover boy!” yells Louis when he sees Zayn walk through the door.

“Lover boy!” Farah repeats, giggling. She’s sitting in Liam’s lap on the couch, Louis standing next to them.

Zayn groans. “Don’t teach her that stuff, Lou,” he pleads. At least Louis looks a little contrite.

“Go on, give your baba a hello, then,” Liam says, picking Farah up and putting her on the ground as she wriggles in his lap.

Farah runs over to Zayn and leaps. Zayn laughs and catches her, swinging her around and dropping a wet kiss on her cheek.

“Ew, Baba!” Farah shrieks, wiping her cheek with one chubby hand. She starts wriggling again, so Zayn puts her down and lets her run over to Louis.

“Gross,” she says to Louis conspirationally, and Louis nods solemnly before giving her a small, private smile. They always act like partners in crime, those two—Zayn is pretty sure that Louis sneaks Farah sweets when he’s not looking.

Louis looks up at Zayn and raises his eyebrows. Liam must catch it, because he says, “How about we put on some tea, Far?” Farah nods agreeably, eager to help Liam with anything, and follows him into the kitchen. As they go, Liam turns and gives Louis a look that Zayn is pretty sure means, I expect to be filled in later. Zayn doesn’t appreciate that. Those two talk behind his back way too often.

“So, how’d it go?” Louis asks once they can hear Liam and Farah bustling around in the kitchen. They’ve moved to the couch, one of Louis’ legs thrown over Zayn’s thigh.

“It was nice,” Zayn admits. “He’s very…Harry.”

Louis nods. “He’s something, isn’t he? Talks a load of shit, but he sure is charming.”

Zayn sighs, runs a hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck. “He wants to come see Farah again.”

Louis grins. “Persistent kid. Good for him. What did you say?”

“I said yes,” Zayn replies, and Louis lets out a triumphant noise that has Zayn asking, “When did you two become such good friends, anyway?”

Louis looks momentarily guilty but quickly wipes the expression off of his face.

“It wasn’t a big deal, mate,” Louis says. “But Harry and I had fun talking at the bar, so we hung out afterwards, even when you didn’t call him.” Louis looks defensive. “He’s nice and a little off, just like I like them. I just wanted to be friends.”

Zayn pats Louis on the thigh. “I’m not mad, mate,” he says. “Just asking.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says grumpily, but he seems placated. They sit in silence for a few moments before Louis’ body shifts and tenses against Zayn’s thighs. He has a pinched expression on his face. Zayn waits patiently.

“So I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Louis says slowly, and Zayn immediately knows that this is about Liam.

“Yeah?” Zayn encourages, gentle.

“Yeah.” Louis takes a deep breath. “I, um—I don’t really know what I’m doing, because it’s Liam and I don’t get him. But I do—” Louis looks at the kitchen door briefly and pauses for a moment. Liam and Farah are still bustling in the kitchen, probably making a far bigger mess than just tea, Zayn thinks wearily. Once he’s sure they’re not listening, Louis lowers his voice and says, quiet and rushed, “I do like him. And I do—I do want to be with him.”

Zayn lets out a breath. He feels momentarily surprised, but he knows he shouldn’t be, really. Louis has never been a coward, never been hesitant to go for what he wants and attack his fears headfirst. It’s no surprise that he’d do the same with Liam.

The thing about Louis, though, is that he so rarely exercises caution. Zayn looks at his face, sees the nervous lip bite and the furrow between Louis’ brows. He's picking at his nails, a nervous tick that he hasn't shown in years. Watching him, Zayn knows that Louis will be careful with this. If nothing else, Louis will always be careful with Liam.

"That's great, mate," Zayn says cautiously. Louis looks near ready to explode with nervous energy. Zayn puts his hand on Louis' thigh again, steady, and keeps it there. "Deep breath," Zayn reminds quietly, and Louis makes a face for a moment like he's going to say something sarcastic, but the front disappears immediately. Louis' face crumbles as he takes a breath, then another. He leans in and presses his face against Zayn's chest, so Zayn moves his hand to the back of Louis' head and strokes gently.

"I'm so fucking scared," Louis says, voice muffled in Zayn's shirt. Zayn laughs breathlessly.

"Yeah, babe, I know," Zayn says. "I know."

\--

Harry comes over three days later. He’s wearing a soft white sweater and tight black jeans and his hair is loose and soft around his shoulders. He brings with him a princess coloring book and a box of markers. Farah jumps on him with her typical enthusiasm.

“You brought princesses!” Farah exclaims, snatching the book out of Harry’s hand and flipping through it.

“Farah,” Zayn scolds. “You know better.”

Farah pouts at Zayn, but obediently turns to Harry and says, “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry laughs and leans down to tug gently on one of Farah’s curls. “You’re welcome, love.” He cups her face with one large hand and Zayn feels his heart beat faster as Farah looks up at him and giggles. Harry asks, “Who’s your favorite princess?”

“Princess Jasmine, _of course_ ,” Farah says, grabbing Harry’s hand and dragging him over to the couch. Zayn follows, feeling a bit like a third wheel.

“Well,” Harry says, sitting on the couch next to Farah. “You do look just like her.”

“Yeah, that’s what Baba says,” Farah says. She’s already found a Princess Jasmine page in the coloring book and is busily coloring Jasmine’s hair pink.

Harry is looking down at the book and grinning. “Good choice,” he tells her. “Can I offer you the purple for her outfit?”

Farah looks up at Harry like he’s gone insane. “Everyone knows Jasmine’s dress is blue.”

Zayn laughs out loud.

\--

At around seven, Zayn goes to put Farah in bed. She whines a bit, but she looks sleepy and is clearly ready to pass out. She insists on wearing her Princess Jasmine pajamas, and then runs out of her room to show them to Harry. Once Harry compliments them, she finally agrees to go to bed.

“This has been really lovely,” Harry says softly. He’s laid out against the foot of the couch, and he’s starting to look tired. His hair is ruffled from where Farah has run her hands through it, fascinated by Harry’s almost shoulder-length locks. He’s snuffling the way Farah does when she’s sleepy. It makes Zayn’s heart ache a little.

Harry’s eyes are soft and bleary and he holds out a hand, wiggling it at Zayn and grinning, dimples popping up in his cheeks. Zayn smiles and agreeably goes towards Harry, grabbing his hand and slipping onto the floor next to him. Harry nudges closer to Zayn and doesn’t let go of his hand, instead clasping it tightly and placing their joined hands on his leg. Zayn’s hand flexes against Harry’s strong thigh.

Zayn lets himself relax, leans into Harry until his head is resting against Harry’s shoulder. Harry makes a pleased noise, squeezing Zayn’s hand once.

“Farah loves you,” Zayn whispers. It scares him to even say it.

Harry squeezes his hand again, then says, “She’s so lovely. _Joy_ suits her well.”

“What?” Zayn asks, surprised. He lifts his head off of Harry’s shoulder and turns to look at him. Harry’s eyes seem bright again, less sleepy.

“That’s what Farah means, right?” Harry asks. “Joy?”

Zayn nods, but he must still look confused, because Harry adds, “You told me that back when you first told me her name.”

Now that Harry has said it, Zayn can vaguely remember that in the midst of his panic over Harry meeting Farah, he might have told Harry that Farah means joy. The fact that Harry somehow remembers that among the shock of meeting Zayn's daughter for the first time both loosens and tightens something in Zayn's stomach. God. He doesn't know how to do any of this.

“Zayn,” Harry says softly. He looks hesitant, but he presses their thighs together more firmly. He’s so beautiful, is the thing. He’s so soft and kind and so, so beautiful.

Zayn takes a deep breath. “I really like you,” he says. “And I really like how you are with Farah. You’re good with her.”

“She’s perfect,” Harry says. “I love kids, but Farah is really something special.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks at Zayn, eyes sharp. “You’re something special, too.”

Zayn smiles. He leans in and presses his lips to Harry’s, making a pleased sound when Harry immediately licks into his mouth. He pulls back just enough to whisper, “You’re not so bad yourself,” before Harry is tangling a hand in Zayn’s hair and pulling him back in.

Harry’s hands are roaming up and down Zayn’s sides as they kiss with an almost frantic energy. When Harry’s hands finally slip underneath Zayn’s shirt to press warmly against Zayn’s bare skin, Zayn lets out a low moan and pulls back to strip his shirt off, nearly getting tangled in it. Harry laughs softly and helps him out of it, but the laugh dies in his throat when the shirt is finally off. He immediately dips down to suck one of Zayn’s nipples into his mouth.

Zayn throws his head back and gasps. Harry bites the nipple gently and then mouths his way back up to Zayn’s throat, whispering in his ear, “Yeah? Farah won’t wake, will she?”

Fuck. Zayn shouldn’t do this; this is irresponsible. He should kick Harry out and go to bed. But Farah won’t wake up, probably, and Louis is right, maybe Zayn _should_ start doing things for himself.

“Yeah, this is fine,” Zayn says, putting a hand on the back of Harry’s neck. “She won’t wake.”

“God, okay,” Harry says, breathless. Suddenly, he swings a leg over Zayn and straddles him, his chest pressed against Zayn’s.

He leans in and kisses Zayn again, deep and dirty. Zayn reaches up to grip Harry’s hips, kissing him with equal enthusiasm. He’s getting hard so fast, and he’d feel embarrassed if he couldn’t feel Harry getting hard as well. Harry grinds his hips forwards against Zayn’s and lets out a low, filthy moan.

“Bed,” Zayn gasps, pushing at Harry’s hips. “Come on, bedroom.”

Harry stumbles out of Zayn’s lap agreeably, grabbing Zayn’s hand and pulling him up. They make their way to the bedroom, pausing a few times so Zayn can push Harry against walls and keep kissing him. He looks so good like this, all red lips and hazy eyes and mussed hair.

When they finally make it into Zayn’s room, shutting the door quietly behind him, they collapse onto Zayn’s bed in a tangle of limbs and giggles, laughing into each other’s mouths. Zayn can’t remember the last time he laughed during sex—it feels amazing.

Harry is on top of Zayn with his chest pressed against him, broad and warm. He’s kissing him hotly, licking into Zayn’s mouth and running his fingers though Zayn’s hair. It feels incredible, and Zayn arches up into it, gasping when Harry moves lower to leave marks on Zayn’s collarbone.

He lets Harry have his way with him, kissing and biting his way down Zayn’s body until he reaches Zayn’s erect cock, breathing warm and wet against it but not touching it.

He says, “I want to ride you,” and then immediately goes down and takes Zayn’s entire cock into his throat in one smooth movement.

Zayn’s hips jerk and Harry gags a little around him, but doesn’t pull off. He continues to bob up and down, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking hard, then pulling up so his tongue can swirl around the head. Zayn throws his head back and moans, his hand automatically going out to grasp Harry’s hair.

At this, Harry pulls off completely and says, “You can fuck my mouth, if you want,” then goes straight back to his enthusiastic sucking.

“Fuck,” Zayn manages, but he agreeably grips Harry’s hair tighter, at which Harry immediately moans.

Zayn grins. “You like that, huh?” he asks. “Like having your hair pulled?” He pulls at Harry’s hair again, sharper, and Harry moans louder around his cock, the vibrations running from Zayn’s cock to his entire body.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Zayn says, arching his hips up and beginning to fuck Harry’s mouth, using his leverage on Harry’s hair to keep Harry where he wants him. Harry goes almost completely lax, letting Zayn move him as he pleases, even when he gags on Zayn’s length. He looks completely blissed out, eyes closed and cheeks red and lips pink and stretched wide around Zayn’s cock, absolutely obscene. When Zayn starts to feel close to coming, he pulls Harry off. Harry looks wrecked already, with his wet mouth and hazy eyes.

“Still wanna ride me, babe?” Zayn asks, tugging Harry’s hair to keep him focused. Harry nods immediately.

“Lube?” Harry asks, voice rough. Zayn feels light-headed.

He stares at Harry in awe for a moment before Harry jostles him, nudging him with his hard cock. Zayn looks down and sees that Harry is so hard it looks painful. He’s jolted out of his haze.

“Yeah,” Zayn manages. “Lemme just—” He reaches blindly for the dresser by his bed and opens the top drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube from among his socks as Harry climbs forward so that he’s properly straddling Zayn’s lap.

He quickly squirts some onto his fingers and presses one finger against Harry’s rim. Harry hisses at the coldness and says, “Do two.”

Zayn doesn’t argue, just presses two fingers into Harry, slow and steady. Harry’s body relaxes to allow the intrusion, and he drops his head against Zayn’s chest, breathing heavily.

Zayn uses his free hand to stroke Harry’s hair, gently. “Alright, babe?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Harry gasps. He puts his hands on Zayn’s shoulders to stabilize himself, lifting his head. Then, he grabs Zayn’s cock with one steady hand and lifts himself over it, pushing Zayn into himself.

Zayn closes his eyes and Harry’s tight heat presses around him. “God, love,” he says. “You feel incredible.”

Harry stays still for a moment, adjusting to Zayn’s cock. Just as Zayn is about to ask whether he’s okay, he starts moving, slowly lifting himself up and then dropping back down on Zayn’s cock, hips rolling with surprising grace for someone who seems to trip over himself multiple times a day.

Harry braces himself with his hands against Zayn’s chest, and Zayn grabs his hips. Like this, Harry looks obscene, hips rolling and head thrown back to reveal his long neck. His hair is in a disarray around his face, framing his soft skin and sharp jaw and plush lips. Zayn reaches up to press his thumb against Harry’s lower lip, pulling it out just slightly before letting it go.

“You look gorgeous,” Zayn says, unable to tear his eyes away from Harry bouncing over him. Harry looks down at him with blown pupils.

“I’m close,” he chokes out, voice cracking.

Zayn is close himself. He wraps a hand around Harry’s cock, giving it a few solid strokes and thumbing the tip. He says, “Come with me babe,” and as soon as it’s out of his mouth, Harry is letting out a choked moan and coming in thick white stripes over Zayn’s chest. He clenches hard around Zayn’s cock and the feeling pushes Zayn over the edge. He comes so hard his vision blurs.

When Zayn comes out of his orgasmic haze, he looks down to see Harry licking a line up Zayn’s chest through his own come. The image is surprisingly hot.

Harry kisses his way up Zayn’s chest and neck and finally presses his mouth against Zayn’s, licking into Zayn’s mouth so that Zayn can taste Harry’s come. Zayn tangles his hand in Harry’s hair and angles his head to kiss Harry deeper until they’re both breathless.

Harry rolls off of Zayn and collapses on the bed, still panting. “You’re fucking amazing,” Harry says.

Zayn feels his whole body heat up, despite how drained he feels from his orgasm. He replies, “You can be little spoon.”

It’s just as good.

\--

Zayn is at Liam and Louis’ apartment and Farah is spending the day with Trisha. As always, their apartment is a mess—comics and clothes strewn across the floor, magazines covered in water cup rings on the tables and at least four different toys on the way from the front door to the couch, which Zayn is currently laying across, his legs thrown over Liam’s lap.

Liam looks a little beat up today, tired from a long day at his garage.

“I’m gonna go make tea,” Liam says, rubbing his eyes tiredly and patting Zayn’s leg. Zayn immediately moves his legs, but Louis interrupts.

“I’ll make it for you!” Louis says brightly, jumping up and physically pushing Liam back down onto the couch. He sounds a little maniacal. Liam looks bewildered.

“It’s no problem, Lou,” Liam says. “I can—”

“I said I’ll make it,” Louis says sharply. Liam backs down, looking chastised. Zayn resists burying his face in his hands.

Once Louis has disappeared into the kitchen, Liam turns a glare onto Zayn. It’s a rather weak glare, since Liam hasn’t had a lot of practice, but Zayn can assume the intent.

“What’s going on with Louis?” Liam asks bluntly. Zayn winces. Liam powers on. “I know you know. Just tell me, mate.”

Zayn sighs. “Liam—” he starts, but Liam interrupts him.

“ _No_ ,” he says sharply, and Liam is so rarely sharp that Zayn starts. Liam looks momentarily contrite before he puts a stern expression back on his face and says, “Please just tell me.” He runs a hand through his hair agitatedly. “Is he upset with me? He’s never been upset with me this long without saying something before.” Then, his face crumples. “He’s probably sick of me, right? We’ve both been home a lot lately, I’m sure I’ve just gotten on his nerves.” He’s starting to look a nauseous.

Zayn is going to _kill_ Louis.

“Liam, babe,” Zayn says softly. “Lou’s not mad at you, alright? You have to talk to him.”

“I’ve tried to talk to him,” Liam hisses. He sounds more on edge than Zayn’s ever heard him. “He won’t talk to me—he’ll barely look at me the second I try to mention that anything’s wrong!”

“Look—” Zayn tries, but before he can say anything, Louis is coming back into the room with a cup of tea on a tea tray. Zayn is horrified.

“Here ya go,” Louis says. On his walk from the kitchen to the couch, he seems to have gained some self-awareness, because he looks appropriately embarrassed for someone holding a tea tray. Resolutely, he holds it out to Liam.

Liam looks flustered, but he picks up the cup of tea agreeably and takes a cautious sip. His face lights up, so Zayn assumes that Louis made it the way Liam likes it.

“Thanks, Lou,” Liam says, warm.

Louis beams and plops down on the couch, tossing the tea tray onto the coffee table with a clatter.  
“So,” he says, turning his attention to Zayn. “What’s going on with you and Harry?”

“Things are—good,” Zayn admits. “Things are really good. He’s so nice and funny and he really seems like he loves Farah.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Louis says smugly, as if he’s personally responsible for this.

Liam is smiling, his eyes crinkles. “We’re so happy for you, mate,” he says. Zayn grins at Liam and puts a hand on Liam’s thigh, and Liam pats it to let him know they’re okay.

Then, Zayn’s phone rings. He looks down and sees that it’s Trisha. “Hey, Mum,” he says, holding a hand up so that Liam and Louis quiet down. They watch him curiously. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Zayn, darling.” Trisha sounds breathless and a bit panicked. Zayn’s heartrate picks up. “Dear, don’t panic, but—I’m in the hospital right now with Farah. She’s okay, but her elbow is broken and they’re going to have to take her into surgery.”

Zayn’s vision blurs. “Fuck,” he breathes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hangs up and launches himself off the couch, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair.

“Zayn, what’s going on?” Liam asks, standing up.

“It’s Farah,” Zayn replies. His voice sounds off, he can tell, but he can barely hear himself think over the thumping in his head and chest. “She’s in the hospital—broken elbow.” His hands are shaking so violently it takes him two tries to pick up his keys.

“We’re going with you,” Louis says. Liam is already grabbing his own jacket and gripping Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn nods shakily as Liam grabs him around the waist and leads him out the door.

\--

Everything in the hospital is a blur. People are moving by too fast and loud, everything smells bleached, and the nurses won’t let Zayn see Farah until she’s out of surgery. Trisha and Liam had to leave for shifts at work and Louis is downstairs getting coffee.

Zayn just needs to see Farah and know she’s okay, and he knows he might be overreacting, but his hands are shaking and his head feels light. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulled out his phone and called Harry.

“Hey, love,” comes a warm voice on the other end.

“Harry,” Zayn breathes. He must sound as bad as he feels, because Harry’s soft voice shifts to something tense.

“Zayn?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m—I’m at the hospital,” Zayn manages. He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “It’s Farah. I know this is a lot to ask but could you—um, could you—”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Harry promises. Zayn can hear him bustling around on the other end. Zayn breathes out, feeling his shoulders relax.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Always, Zayn,” Harry responds. Zayn has no idea what he did to deserve that.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Harry speaks again. Zayn can hear a door slamming from his end. “Do you need me to stay on the phone with you, love?” Harry asks. His voice is gentle, steady. Zayn knows it’s for his benefit.

“No, I—Louis is with me,” Zayn manages. “But he has to leave soon for work and—”

“It’s alright,” Harry soothes. “I’ll be there soon. Is he with you right now?”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes as he sees Louis coming down the hallway, carrying two cups of coffee. “He’s here.”

“Okay. Stay with him till I can get there, yeah?” Harry’s voice is so, so gentle. Zayn clenches his eyes shut.

“Yeah,” he repeats.

He hangs up as Louis approaches him and hands him a cup of coffee.

“What’s up?” Louis asks, nodding at the phone curiously. He looks exhausted, his hair mussed and bags under his eyes. There’s a line of tension in his shoulders that hasn’t relaxed since Trisha’s call. If this is how Louis looks, Zayn can’t imagine what he must look like himself.

Zayn blushes. “I, um—I asked Harry to come.” He bites his lip, waiting for Louis’ response.

Louis just puts a firm, warm hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “Good for you, mate,” he says. “It’ll be good to have him here.”

Zayn nods, his heart pounding. Louis smiles.

“I’m proud of you,” Louis says. “I’m proud of you for calling him.”

Zayn clasps Louis’ hand as hard as he can.

They sit like that for a while longer until Louis absolutely has to leave to open up the bar. He pulls Zayn into a tight hug and tells Zayn to keep him updated about Farah, and then he rushes out, phone pressed against his ear as he assures their manager that he’s on his way.

Zayn is only by himself for a few minutes, but it’s enough time to work himself into a quiet panic. Farah is behind that door in _pain_ and they won’t let him see her, even though she _needs_ him and—

“Zayn,” a low, familiar voice breathes, and then Harry’s warm arms are wrapping Zayn up and it’s all Zayn can do to drop his head into Harry’s broad chest and let out a shaky breath.

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s shaking until Harry grips him tighter and holds him place, whispering small reassurances in his ear.

“You’re alright, love,” Harry murmurs in his ear. “She’ll be alright.”

Zayn shudders and lets Harry hold him for a bit longer before he finally pulls back, trying to rub his eyes discreetly. Harry looks like he ran out of his apartment as soon as Zayn called, dressed in grey sweatpants and a loose white v-neck, his hair tied up in a bun.

“It’s her arm, right?” Harry asks. “Lou texted me.”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes, realizing he’s just been standing still and staring at Harry. He just—he can’t believe he called Harry, can’t believe Harry came. He feels jittery and scared, but there’s something about Harry’s presence that makes him feel better, like he can get through this.

“Thank you for coming,” Zayn manages. “I just—thanks for being here.”

Harry reaches out and hooks his fingers through Zayn’s belt loops, dragging Zayn closer from where he’d stepped away.

“Always, Zayn,” Harry says. Zayn can feel his breath against his cheek. “Always.”

\--

After another two hours, during which Zayn and Harry sat on the uncomfortable chairs outside of Farah’s hospital room, Harry pressing Zayn’s hand in his and stroking his palm and fingers the entire time, a nurse finally comes out and lets Zayn know that he can go in to see Farah.

Zayn throws himself out of his seat and nearly slams into the nurse on his way to the hospital room, Harry coming behind him at a safer pace.

As Zayn enters the room, Farah looks up. She looks so, so tiny in her hospital bed, her hair tangled around her face and her skin pale. She looks nearly buried in the giant cast on her arm. It’s bright pink and crawls all the way up to her elbow, thick and cumbersome. “Hi, Baba,” she murmurs tiredly.

“Baby,” Zayn breathes, slowing down as he finally reaches Farah’s side. He doesn’t know where to touch her where she won’t hurt, doesn’t know how gently or how firmly to handle her. To his horror, he feels his eyes start to fill yet again.

Farah’s own eyes widen and start to water, as well. “Baba,” she whimpers. “Don’t cry, Baba, it’s okay.”

“He’s fine, love, he was just a bit worried about you,” comes Harry’s voice. Zayn had nearly forgotten that Harry was still there. Harry places a hand on the back of Zayn’s back and uses it to gently lead to Farah’s bed.

Once Zayn is in reach of Farah, he can’t stop himself. He reaches out and touches her everywhere he can, pressing his hands against her hair and cheeks and leg.

Farah holds out her uninjured hand and Zayn grabs it and squeezes it, biting his tongue to keep from crying again.

“Baby, you were so brave,” Zayn manages. “We’re going to—when you can leave here, I’ll get you all the ice cream you want.”

Farah smiles, bright. “Yay!” she squeals, like all her problems are gone. Her elbow must still hurt, Zayn is sure, but apparently the distraction of ice cream is enough.

“What happened, lovely?” Harry asks.

Farah blushes and smiles at him, shy now. “Hi, Harry,” she says. “I was playing and I fell against Nana’s glass table. It hurt a lot.” She pouts.

Zayn feels his heart clench, tight and uncomfortable. Harry says, “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Farah. But the doctors took good care of you, didn’t they?”

Farah beams. “Yeah! And the nurse gave me candy when I was done.” She points to her bedside table, where a wrapped lollipop is sitting. She continues, “But I haven’t eaten yet because I’m supposed to ask Baba before I eat candy.”

Zayn chokes out a wet laugh. “You can have your candy, Jaan.”

Farah lets out a pleased noise and reaches over to the table to grab her lollipop. As she does, she jostles her other arm and lets out a sharp yelp of pain, leaning back into the bed. Her eyes start welling up.

“Oh baby, it’s alright, you’re fine,” Zayn soothes, brushing Farah’s hair out of her face and pressing his fingers against her cheek. As he calms her, Harry busies himself with unwrapping the lollipop and handing it over to Farah, who accepts it with another shy smile at Harry.

Farah seems pretty enamored with Harry, really. Zayn understands the feeling.

“Why don’t I leave you two alone for a bit and grab us some coffee,” Harry says, looking at Zayn questioningly.

Zayn nods. “That would be great, thanks.”

“I wan’ coffee, too!” Farah says, words jumbled around her lollipop. She looks happier now, wiggling her toes and fixing her hair as she watches them.

“No coffee for you,” Zayn says gently, poking the candy bulge in her cheek. Farah giggles.

“How about I get you some juice instead,” Harry says, laughing. “Do you have a favorite?”

Farah shakes her head. “I hate orange juice,” she says. “But everything else is okay.”

Harry grins. “Good to know,” he says. He runs a hand over Zayn’s back and heads out.

Zayn sits in the chair by Farah’s bed and strokes her hair, unwilling to stop touching her now that he has her safe. He’s so tempted to scold her for not being careful, for scaring him like that, but he knows now isn’t the time.

Instead, he says, “They’re discharging you in two hours, baby. That means we’ll be allowed to take you home.” Farah nods happily.

They sit in silence for a little while, Zayn stroking any part of Farah that won’t hurt her and Farah quietly sucking on her candy. Eventually, Harry comes back into the room with two cups of coffee and an apple juice box.

He rips open the straw and tucks into the box, handing it over to Farah delicately. Farah grabs it too hard and spills some juice on herself, like she always does. Giggling, she holds her hand out to Zayn, who indulgently licks the juice off her arm, like he always does. Harry watches the exchange with bright, laughing eyes.

Zayn gratefully takes the coffee that Harry holds out to him and takes a deep sip, sighing as the sweetness hits his tongue. Harry made it just the way Zayn likes it. It makes something grow in Zayn’s chest, makes it feel a bit less tight and uncomfortable.

The doctor walks into the room about ten minutes later, holding a clipboard. She’s an older woman, tall and dark-skinned, and she smiles in a warm way that reminds Zayn of his mother.

“You must be Mr. Malik,” the woman says, holding a hand out to Zayn. Zayn stands to shake her hand, nodding.

“I’m Dr. Makinda,” she says, then looks over at Harry, who has stood up as well.

“Harry,” Harry introduces.

Dr. Makinda nods and shakes his hand, shooting Zayn a curious look. Before Zayn knows what he’s doing, he says, “Harry is my boyfriend.”

Harry, Zayn, and Farah must all looks visibly startled by this statement, because Dr. Makinda sees the expressions on their faces and makes a look of half bewilderment, half amusement. She moves on without comment.

She tells them about Farah’s injury, how they need to take care of Farah’s elbow and her cast, and when they’ll need to come in for follow-up appointments. Zayn nods along with the information, feeling flustered and overwhelmed and too hot.

After that, everything is a rush of signing papers, calling the insurance company, getting information, and checking Farah out of the hospital. Farah is taken to the car in a wheelchair because any movement jostles her arm and leaves her teared up. It makes Zayn want to cry with her, but he manages to stay calm until he and Harry have finally tucked Farah carefully into bed and sat with her until she fell into a fitful sleep.

They carefully make their way back downstairs. Harry sits Zayn on the couch and goes to make tea. Zayn can hear him bustling around, opening and closing different cabinets as he tries to find the tea bags.

Zayn just leans back against the couch and closes his eyes, trying to take deep, calming breaths, but soon enough he feels himself start to tear up. His hands are shaking.

Suddenly, Harry’s large, steady hands and wrapped around Zayn’s own trembling ones and he’s being dragged into Harry’s chest, his face pressed against the warm skin of Harry’s neck. Zayn takes a few wet, shuddering breaths against Harry’s skin as Harry strokes his back and hair and kisses his cheeks and ear and any part of Zayn that he can reach.

“Sorry, sorry,” Zayn gasps. “I know she’ll be okay, I just— _god_.”

Harry strokes Zayn’s hair and murmurs in his ear, “It’s okay, you’re fine, you’re allowed to be upset.”

Zayn allows himself to cry into Harry’s chest for just a few more seconds before he pulls back, lips tight in an effort to stay in control.

Harry looks so concerned, eyes wide and soft. Zayn can’t believe how much he trusts him, suddenly—can’t believe he let Harry into his and Farah’s life like this, can’t believe he called Harry to meet him at the hospital when Farah was hurt, can’t believe he trusts Harry to help him take care of her.

It makes Zayn feel full and content. He waits for the pang of fear and uncertainty, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he feels warm. Safe.

Head spinning, Zayn wraps his hands around Harry’s shoulders and neck and drags him in, kissing him desperately, hot and wet and deep. Harry kisses back for a minute before gently pulling back and rubbing Zayn’s back soothingly.

“You alright, babe?” Harry asks. He presses softer, sweeter kisses against Zayn’s cheekbones and neck, rubbing his back the entire time.

Zayn’s heart swells again. Everything just—it feels like so _much_.

“I love you,” Zayn says. His throat tightens, but he says it again. “I love you. I love you so much.” He means it more than he’s ever meant anything.

Harry’s eyes are wide, and Zayn is struck by how beautiful he is, his hair soft and pulled into a loose bun, his lips pink and plush, his cheeks red. Zayn nearly says it again, unable to stop himself, but Harry beats him to it.

“I love you, too, Zayn,” Harry says, quiet—like an admission. Like he means it.

Zayn waits again for overwhelming fear, but it doesn’t come. He just feels— _good_. He feels like he’s okay, like he’s not drowning for the first time in years.

“ _God_ ,” Zayn chokes out, and then Harry reaches for him and practically tries to bury himself inside of Zayn, tucking his head under Zayn’s chin and running his hands under Zayn’s shirt and over the warm skin of his sides.

“I love you,” Harry gasps, like a damn has broken. “Love you, love you, love you— _fuck_. I’ve loved you the whole time, I love you.”

“Bed,” Zayn manages as Harry starts pressing hot kisses into Zayn’s neck and his hands starts squeezing Zayn’s hips. “Harry, come on, _bed_.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but he does scramble off the couch, tugging Zayn up with a hand and dragging Zayn’s body into his own, kissing him fiercely. Zayn feels Harry’s hands press firmly against his ass, and then Harry is bodily lifting him up. Zayn wraps his hands around Harry’s neck and his legs around Harry’s waist and lets Harry carry him to the bedroom, pressing his mouth against Harry neck and Harry gasps and tries to get to the room without knocking into anything.

Harry slams Zayn into three walls, but they make it to the bedroom without too many injuries.

Afterwards, they lay in bed quietly until their breathing has steadied and Zayn’s heart isn’t beating so hard. Then, Harry turns to him and says, quietly, “Boyfriend, huh?”

Zayn blushes and tries to squirm away a little, but Harry is holding him, tight and close. It steadies something in Zayn. “Um,” he starts. “If that’s—if that’s okay with you?” It comes out like a question.

Harry laughs, reaching out to pull Zayn in by the neck and kiss him thoroughly. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright and his dimples have made a full appearance. His face makes Zayn’s heart feel so, so full.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, still smiling. “Yeah, that’s okay with me.” He looks like the sun.

\--

The next day, Louis and Liam come to visit. They’re holding hands. Zayn just raises his eyebrows at them. Liam blushes, but Louis just looks defiant and proud.

“I’m happy for you,” Zayn tells them, and they grin and him and hug him hard enough to hurt.

They stay at the house all day, Liam answering Farah’s every beck and call and Louis regaling her with stories to make sure she doesn’t get bored in bed. It’s so good to have their help, but Harry is really the one who keeps Zayn sane.

Harry flits between them all, bringing Zayn, Louis, and Liam tea, stroking Farah’s hair and telling her how wonderful she is, making Liam sit down for five minutes and finding whatever hidden stuffed animal Farah is asking for next. Every time he passes Zayn, he squeezes Zayn’s side or presses a brief kiss to Zayn’s forehead and leaves Zayn feeling a bit lighter.

“He’s good for you,” Louis says at one point, when he and Zayn are alone in the kitchen. Louis looks soft, his eyes a bit brighter and his smile without its usual edge.

“Could say the same for you,” Zayn replies, smiling as Liam comes into the kitchen and Louis turns a deep red.

Liam hesitates for only a moment before he boldly walks up to Louis and wraps an arm around him, pressing a slightly awkward kiss to Louis’ temple. Louis looks ecstatic.

“What are we talking about, then?” Liam asks, looking between Louis and Zayn and turning the same shade as Louis.

Zayn grins. “We’re talking about how good things are,” he replies.

Liam blushes even harder, but his smile is the brightest Zayn’s ever seen it.

\--

4 YEARS LATER

“Bloody—” Zayn starts, staring at the spilled pasta all over his floor. Liam would get a kick out of this.

“Bloody!” Farah agrees brightly.

Zayn sighs. “Don’t say that,” he admonishes. He’s usually so good about watching his language around her. He grabs the kitchen towel and a roll of napkins. “Go find Harry, baby,” he says.

Farah runs off, skipping over the pasta and just narrowly avoiding landing squarely in a puddle of marinara. As she runs off, Zayn hears her shout, “Dad! Baba made a mess!”

Zayn freezes, still knelt before the pile of pasta in the kitchen. He stays there for a few moments, unmoving. Farah bounds back into the kitchen, Harry on her heels.

Zayn looks up. Harry looks stricken, eyes wide. He’s watching Farah like he’s mesmerized, hasn’t even looked in the direction of Zayn and the mess yet. Farah is grinning at Zayn, oblivious.

“Messy,” she accuses, pointing at Zayn. She loves it when people who aren’t her have made a mess. She turns to Harry. “Right, Dad?”

Harry’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t move for a moment. Then, like he’s been thrown into motion, his face breaks out into a huge smile and he reaches out and grabs Farah, lifting her up and spinning her around before pulling her close and hugging her, burying his face in her neck and breathing out, “Yeah, baby. Yeah, absolutely.”

Zayn is laughing too, now, watching Harry’s bright eyes and huge smile. Farah pats Harry’s cheek absently and then says, “I’m gonna go color now.” Harry obediently puts her down and Farah runs out of the kitchen.

Zayn is still knelt over the pasta. “She called you Dad,” he says. Harry’s eyes are shining. “She called you Dad.”

“She did,” Harry laughs. “She called me Dad. Oh my god, she called me _Dad_.”

And then Harry is laughing and crying and kneeling down next to Zayn, and he’s getting marinara sauce on his jeans but Zayn couldn’t care less, because he has his arms full of his wonderful, beautiful boyfriend who is crying because Zayn’s daughter called him _Dad_.

“You’ve been a father to her for years now, you know,” Zayn says, stroking Harry’s hair. Harry is laying with his head buried in Zayn’s chest now, his breath hitching.

“Yeah,” Harry manages, voice muffled by Zayn’s shirt. “Yeah, but—she called me Dad.”

Zayn laughs again, unable to help himself. “God,” he says. “I love you so much. I just—I love you and Farah more than anything in the whole world.”

Harry tightens his grip on Zayn’s shirt and lets out a shaky breath. “Me too. Just—so much. Me too.”

Zayn puts a finger under Harry’s chin, tilting his face up so he can kiss him, sweet and soft. As they kiss, they can hear the front door slam open.

“Best uncles in the world are here!” comes Louis’ voice. “Plus Niall!”

“Hey!” Niall protests. “I brought Farah a new toy truck. Let’s see who the favorite is now.”

“You can’t buy her love, Niall,” Louis admonishes, his voice nearing the kitchen. He appears in the doorway, his fingers interlocked tightly with Liam’s, who is somehow already carrying Farah with his other arm. Niall pops in behind them.

For a moment, Louis, Liam, and Niall all stare at Zayn and Harry, who are still sitting on the kitchen floor, lounging on a pile of marinara sauce, Harry still practically buried in Zayn’s chest.

Louis starts laughing so hard he nearly cries.

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr over at [mermaidsbush](mermaidsbush.tumblr.com)!
> 
> and if you would like to reblog this fic, there's a post on my tumblr [here](http://mermaidsbush.tumblr.com/post/126930237552/hold-on-to-me-im-a-little-unsteady)!


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